Call of Duty 4
Modern Warfare
Chapter -1
FNG
What's going on the world today, Gaz?
Good news first. The world's in great shape. We've got a civil war in Russia. Government loyalists and Rebel Supernationalists, with 15000 Nukes at stake.
Just another day at the office.
And in the Middle-East, we've got Khaled Al-Asad. Currently the second most powerful man in the Middle-East. Word on the street is he's got the minerals to be top dog there. Intel is keeping an eye on him.
And the bad news?
We've got a new guy joining us today, fresh off selection. His name's Soap…
XXX
"Here he is."
Soap frowned as the hanger door opened wider, and he scanned the room. A massive wooden structure towered in front of him, a rope threaded down from the ceiling onto one area. He could hear gunshots from the inside, before all was silent, and a muffled voice cried out.
"TIME?!"
"Twenty-One fifteen."
"Bollocks…" the speaker emerged to Soap's right, removed his Kevlar helmet and respirator. A mop of ginger was revealed, along with pale skin. His MP-5 was held loosely at his side, with the helmet and respirator in his other. As he walked towards the group of soldiers at the front of the structure, he seemed to notice Soap for the first time, and gave him a suspicious look.
"Oi, calm down, Wallcroft."
"Sir…" the ginger-haired man replied, collapsing the stock on his MP-5.
The rest of the group turned to look at Soap. One man stood in the centre, a thick, light coloured moustache decorating his upper lip. He folded his arms, and raised an eyebrow at the newcomer.
"And who might you be?" Before Soap could answer, someone did it for him.
"This is the FNG sir. Soap."
Soap turned, to see Staff Sergeant Gary "Gaz" Cullen follow him through the door, having changed quickly into his CRW kit. He carried his Diemaco C8 in his hands, with a Remington 870 slung over the back of his modular combat vest. His brown stubble was quickly hidden as he pulled on his respirator, followed swiftly by the Kevlar helmet. "Go easy on the poor bastard sir, it's his first day."
"Yeah, well, I'll be the judge of that. You got a voice for yourself?"
"Yessir." Soap spoke for the first time. He passed his S10 over to his left hand, and went to salute the senior officer. Gaz grabbed his hand before he could do it, and forced it back down to his side.
"Don't salute the boss." The Staff whispered through his mask. "He doesn't like it, and neither do we." Soap nodded frantically, and simply stood at ease, a loose thread on his glove suddenly becoming very interesting.
"So you're Soap, eh?" Price twisted the edge of his wonderful moustache between his forefinger and thumb, looking on with interest at his new team member, taking in his black hair, pale skin and average height. "What sort of daft name is that? How'd a Muppet like you pass selection?
"I…erm…I don't know, sir."
"Well, you must've done something right. Either that or you're some walt who managed to scale the fence."
"I guess I was part of that ten percent, sir." Soap offered the meagre excuse. Ten percent was the usual maximum pass rate for UKSF Selection. Normally, the pass rate varied between five and seven percent, but on occasion, they would have a ten. Price stared at him for a moment, before smiling, and releasing his moustache.
"You'll do. You got your weapons?"
Soap nodded. He was carrying two weapons. Slung over his chest, barrel pointed towards the ground, was a Heckler and Koch MP-5, possibly the most renowned counter terror weapon in the world. A powerful LED flashlight was clamped underneath the barrel, which Soap's left hand was currently holding. He had one magazine loaded, with three others strapped to his left thigh. On his right thigh was a Sig Sauer P226 pistol, a Swiss made weapon, which was to pistols what Swiss watches were to time.
"Right, good lad. You ever fired an SMG before?"
"No, boss." Soap had formerly been a member of 29 Royal Artillery, a unit that was not issued with such specialist weapons.
"Then here's the time to learn. We're doing an op on a cargo ship later, and this is the rehearsal. What's the record, Griffin?"
"Nineteen seconds, sir. Gazzer."
"There we go." Price pointed towards a ladder on the edge of a set of scaffolding, which led up to the rope that was suspended from the gantries above the hanger floor. "Alright, rules state that we should be able to do this in less than sixty seconds, Soap." Price nodded, and began fitting his respirator. A moment later, Price stopped him. "If you take more than twenty-five seconds, you're out. No pressure, lad."
"Right…"
XXX
The climb to the top of the scaffolding seemed to take forever. Another SAS Operator was stood at the top, leaning back against the edge of the rails. He grabbed Soap's hand as he reached the top of the ladder, and pulled him up onto the platform.
"Alright, he's what you do." He guided Soap to the edge of the platform, while the Trooper quickly cocked his MP-5 and Sig. "Rope down onto the deck, eliminate the targets there. Double-taps through the mouth. Go through the ship, clearing it, double-taps the whole way through. Price will take a look at your accuracy and knock off time for every decent hit you land. Understand?"
"Yeah…" Soap pulled his respirator down over his face, and tightened the rubber straps across the back of his head. He pulled the stock of the MP-5 into his shoulder, before letting it loose over his chest.
"You ready?" the kindly operator patted Soap on the shoulder as he nodded. "Alright lad. Standy. Standby. GO GO GO!"
XXX
Soap leapt forward, and grabbed the rope, his thin gloves protesting at the burns the thick rope was causing, but Soap resisted. The rope was only eight metres at most, and he was in the air for less than two seconds. One the count of two, his Converse boots hit the wooden deck of the ship with a hollow thud, resonating around the entire mock-up. He gripped his weapon, and swiftly brought it up into his shoulder. As he turned, three paper targets popped up. Taking a small breath, he stepped forward, flicking the MP-5 to fully automatic, and tapping the trigger gently. Two rounds leapt from the short barrel of the weapon, and spiralled towards their target. He didn't stop to check if he'd hit or not, moving onto the next two targets, and firing at them in a similar.
"Position two, go!" Price's voice echoed as he yelled into the intercom. Soap ran, weapon still in shoulder, to the entrance of the "bridge" of the "ship". Seconds later, he was inside, and heading down a set of wooden steps. A target popped up at the bottom of the staircase, and he dropped it quickly with another round. As he was coming to the door to his left at the bottom of the stairs, he wrenched a flashbang from his vest, quickly pulled the pin, and slung it around the corner, immediately grabbing his MP-5 again. The grenade detonated, and Soap stormed through the door across the corridor from the stairs, and into the room. Two targets popped up at extremely close quarters. Soap shot one, and, purely by reflex, slammed out a Nomex clad fist at the second target, punching it right in the face, before then putting another round into it, through the mouth. "Position three! Flashbang through the door!" Soap turned on the spot, and sent another flashbang ahead of him, stacking up behind the wood. The distraction device exploded, and he pressed on, his torch flickering around the unlit room. Two targets popped up as he stepped inside, presumably to represent enemies coming into the room after the grenade had detonated. His finger brushed lightly against the trigger four times, putting double-taps into each target swiftly.
"Position four! Flashbang through the door!" the young trooper nodded, and hurled his last stun grenade away from him and around the corner. He heard it explode, and headed around the corner. Two X-Rays. Tap tap. Tap tap. The targets dropped to the floor, rips in the paper and bullet holes in the back of the walls.
"CLEAR!" Soap yelled as he exited the room.
"Position five! Go! Sprint to the finish!" Soap nodded, and took off out of the exit, following the arrows along the floor to the finish line. A chalk "X" was scrawled on the floor, and his Converse boots thumped lightly along the concrete as he ran, ragged breathing resonating through his respirator. "Time!" Price called out as Soap crossed the finishing line. The Trooper was bent over double, and breathing heavily, trying to suck in air through the mask, before wrenching it from his head, and inhaling the sweet cold air of the outside world.
XXX
"You'll get used to it…" Gaz, now sans helmet and respirator, patted him on the shoulder. "We'll see how you did in a second, alright mate?"
"Yeah…" Soap breathed in deeply, before standing up straight, and slinging his MP-5. He watched as Price headed around the back of the structure, and went in through the exit. He seemed to take an age, inspecting each target, and carefully scribbling in his notebook as he walked through. "So what's this about a Cargo ship?"
"Price will give us the O-Group tonight, mate. Should be a laugh, from what I've heard it seems like a bit of a doss."
"Right…"
"So where you from mate?" Gaz bit his bottom lip, before looking down at his slightly shorter team mate. "C'mon then, where?"
"Oh, eerm…place called Oswestry, mate."
"I didn't mean that, you mong." Gaz punched him playfully on the shoulder. "What reg you from? Para?" Soap shook his head. He was Para trained, having served for a time with 7 Royal Horse Artillery, but, to begin with, he had started out not even in a proper teeth arm.
Soap had joined the army at the age of sixteen, with a handful of GCSE's, though there had been very little choice in the matter. Having been convicted of Grand Theft Auto and shoplifting on several counts, and with an impending prison sentence, he had had no choice but to join the army as a Trooper in the Royal Logistics Corps, something that had bored him horribly.
"I was RLC for a time, but I got into Two-Nine Commando when I was seventeen, and Seven RHA when I was twenty-three…and now I'm here."
"That's quite a leap." Gaz commented. "Royal Logistics Corps to The Regiment."
"Had a weekend free." Soap shrugged, as Price came back around the corner, a grave look on his face.
"What's the score? Gaz raised an eyebrow, as Price walked by them.
"You're not gonna like it." The officer held out his notepad, and Gaz read it over quickly.
"Oh, you're taking the piss!" he exclaimed, dropping his helmet to the floor. "Seventeen seconds? Bullshit!"
"Well, Trooper Mactavish." Price grinned. "Looks like you're in. Come on over to the monitors and we'll debrief."
Soap and Gaz followed Price to the screens that were placed on a table in one corner of the hanger, where three other men were waiting.
"Soap, I think it's time you were introduced properly. I'm Captain Price, and this is Bravo Section, B Squadron." He gestured at the other soldiers. "Sergeant Wallcroft, Lance Corporal Griffin, and Trooper Stuart. Lads, this is Trooper McTavish. Or Soap."
"Y'alright-laa?" Stuart smiled, and outstretched his hand. "You're gonna be my oppo, if that's alright with you."
"Erm…yeah. Sure." Soap shook the Mancunian's hand. The other two operators were less forthcoming.
"Training exercises is one thing, but fuck up in the real world, and you're dead." Wallcroft kept a serious, steely glare at the newcomer. "So don't fuck up."
"When you're finished…" Price leant back against the table, his arms folded.
"Yes Boss. Sorry." Wallcroft turned, and watched as Price stood up straight again.
"Cheers. Right lads, the cargo ship mission is a go. Wheels up at 0200. Pack light, the op should take fifteen minutes maximum. I'll brief you all later."
XXX
This the first story I've had time to write in a while, and those of you who have read my other stuff will know I like to go back and improve, constantly (Much to a certain fellow RE writer's chagrin, I would imagine). However, I hope you will enjoy this. Having no experience with the US Army, let alone the USMC, my writing of the Special Air Service will probably be a lot more accurate, so if anyone would offer to help me write as the USMC, that would be fantastic.
In other areas, I do realise that Soap is a Sergeant in the game. However, in the real SAS, NCO's are demoted prior to their entrance into the Regiment, so that they may learn from the ground up. Gaz' rank is never revealed in game, but is likely, as the second-in-command of Bravo team, he is a Staff-Sergeant.